


Life on Mars

by HappilyShanghaied



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: (Past) statutory rape, 80's rom-com ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF!Lip, Bad language abounds, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Canon Gay Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Frank is a scheister, Grinding, Homophobic Language, I swear this is not nearly as dark as it sounds, Ian POV, Internalized Homophobia, Jealous Mickey, Ned's a letch but not a bad guy, One thing changes, Sexist Language, Sexy Times, nothing gross happens here, trigger warning for the obvious canon stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappilyShanghaied/pseuds/HappilyShanghaied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember when a drunken Ned stayed over the Gallaghers house in S3 and got kicked out before morning for groping Lip? What if, instead, he ended up staying a while and wacky hijinks ensued?</p><p>*************</p><p>Jimmy gently placed both hands on the table and took a deep breath. "Do I enjoy spending time with him? Sure. But, it’s not like we’re rolling deep, gambling in Atlantic City on some bro trip. He isn’t here for father-son bonding time."</p><p>"Not with <em>his</em> son, at least,” Lip quipped, slipping out of the back door before anybody could comment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steenbeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steenbeans/gifts).



> Unbeta'd and written on an iPad, so please forgive any mistakes!

A lot of bad crap went down in the Gallagher kitchen.

Ian couldn’t remember a time when his family hadn’t been a magnet for every passing disaster that blew through their neighborhood. Even when Frank wasn’t living there, the asshole still managed to track problems into the house for them to clean up, like dog shit across an ivory rug.

Frank had also _actually_ tracked dog shit into the house on more than a few occasions.

So, being the main gathering point of their home, the kitchen often caught the brunt of everything. The fall-out from bad life choices collecting there like space junk in the deepest part of a black hole.

Today - for the first time in his life - Ian was the one who tracked shit into the house.

He’d always been the most reasonable Gallagher, the least quick to temper, probably because he was lucky enough not to share all of Frank’s DNA. But he was still Peg’s grandson, either way, and she was the well spring from which the toxic river flowed. The rest of them just had the shit luck to live downstream.

In Frank’s demented mind, Ian’s transgression was probably some fucked up right of passage, whereas he simply assumed it to be a genetic inevitability.

Lip breezed through the kitchen, gracefully circumventing both Fiona and Jimmy as he rounded the table.

"Morning," he said, reaching across the table to scoop up the glass of OJ Ian had just finished pouring for himself.

"Asshole." Ian pegged a balled up, dirty dish rag at his brother’s head - scoring a direct hit - then got up to grab another glass from the cabinet. "I’m a growing boy."

"Your boner doesn’t count, dude. And uh, speaking of boners…what’s Mary McPedo still doing on our couch?" Lip lifted the rag from the floor and tried to jump-shot it into the sink, missing by at least a foot.

Ian glanced at the sleeping figure on the sofa and shrugged, then attempted to block himself from Jimmy’s view with the cabinet door. He wondered how long he could stretch out the act of retrieving a glass before it got weird.

"Ask his kid," he said, his voice echoing off of the wood veneer panels.

At the very least, Ian was thankful Deb and Carl had already left for school. They’d seen enough craziness in their young lives to permanently scar them, and last night ranked pretty high on the Gallagher Scale of Horror. They didn’t need to relive the sordid events a second time.

Neither did he.

"Hey, JimmySteve!" Lip smiled maliciously, then paused for a moment to let out a wet belch. "When’s pedobear checking out of the roach motel?"

Fiona cuffed their brother on the back of the head. “Stop enjoying this.”

Jimmy glared at Lip.

"Of all the people in this house, I’m probably enjoying this the least," Lip said, stopping to take a long sip of juice. "I’m the guy who had a grown man trying to rub one out on the back of his thigh as he slept. Victim-blaming is such an ugly societal pastime."

"What do you want me to do?" Jimmy asked, his fingertips losing color as he clung tightly to his coffee mug. "Throw my dad out on the street?"

"Uh, yeah? We do it all the time with our dad." Lip wiped the OJ off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Seriously though, dude. No matter how long he crashes here, if he comes into my room again, he walks out a tranny. You get me?"

"Fair enough." Jimmy’s leg bounced audibly under the table, sending soft vibrations through everybody’s food.

Ian passively wondered if Jimmy had developed a drug problem over the last few months. He seemed really keyed up lately - almost nervous - and was broke almost as often as Frank was. A far cry from the fun-loving car thief, flush with cash, who had entered their lives two years ago.

He wouldn’t think less of Jimmy if he were hooked on something. Living the Gallagher lifestyle could break even the toughest of men. Except, Jimmy wasn’t tough.

What he was, however, was shady as fuck, and had been since the moment they’d met him. Living with them shouldn’t have been such a shock to his system, it’s not like he had very far to fall.

But Fiona was more paranoid around outsiders than President Nixon at the end, and if she didn’t suspect anything was up with him, then there probably wasn’t.

"Seriously though, honey, he’s got to find a place to live. The inn is full up," Fiona said, tucking in her uniform shirt with one hand as she tried to feed Liam a spoonful of oatmeal with the other.

After she finished dressing, she looked down at herself and frowned. “It’s a uniform, and yet it still somehow makes me look like a truck stop hooker, right?”

"What I’m trying to understand here, is how it’s okay that Frank crashes here after he goes on a bender, but not my dad when my mom kicks him out of the house for napalming their marriage, sleeping with underage boys?" Jimmy snapped, running a hand through his generous hair. "At least you know _my_ dad won't crap the bed."

Nobody but Jimmy had the balls or desire to look directly at Ian, but Ian still found himself wishing fervently for the power of invisibility.

"I’m sorry, have we just met?" Fiona said, digging both hands into her hips. "When the hell have I ever been remotely okay with Frank being here?"

"Fine." Jimmy dropped his empty mug onto the table and slid it forward a few inches. "Maybe that was a bit of an overstatement."

"Ya think?" She assaulted him with a dose of her famous crazy-eyes, but their intensity was no match for Jimmy’s sad anime-eyes, and her features quickly softened. "Look Jimmy, I know you haven’t seen too much of your dad lately, and I want you to. I do. It’s just, this place is enough of a zoo without adding one more animal to the mix."

"I know. And yeah, this technically isn’t my home, but I do live here and he needs my help." Jimmy gently placed both hands on the table and took a deep breath. "Do I enjoy spending time with him? Sure. But, it’s not like we’re rolling deep, gambling in Atlantic City on some bro trip. He isn’t here for father-son bonding time."

"Not with _his_ son, at least,” Lip quipped, slipping out of the back door before anybody could comment.

Fiona side-eyed the rear exit where their brother last stood, exhaling through her nose as she crossed the room toward her boyfriend.

Wrapping her arms around Jimmy’s neck, she pulled him tightly to her chest and dropped a kiss on his head. “This is your home as much as it is mine. So, if you want to have your father stay for a short while - emphasis on the word short - you’re entitled. Just, tell him he’s banned from trying to fuck my underage brother. All of them. That part’s unconditional.”

Ian buried his flushed face into his hands, but he could still feel the weight of everybody’s eyes on him.

"Gladly." Jimmy pushed his chair out from the table and stood up. "Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bring Liam to use the potty before he pees in his pants." He held out his hand to the littlest Gallagher, who climbed out of the seat and onto his back.

It wasn't until Jimmy and Liam were safely out of sight, that Ian lifted his head again.

"The same goes for you, too," Fiona said, not bothering to turn her attention toward Ian. It was obvious who that was directed towards, it wasn’t like there was anybody else in the room who had fucked Jimmy’s dad.

He smiled tightly at her. “Noted.”

She sighed once more and cocked her head in the direction of the sleeping body on the couch. “Keep your mitts off Old Man River, if you know what’s good for you. I’m not letting you turn this neighborhood into a white-trash version of Port Charles.”

"Because, it’s not already?" Ian asked, carving shapes into his cereal with his spoon, like he was sculpting clay. "Anyway, not a problem. I’m kind of…seeing somebody else."

Fiona raised an eyebrow at him. “Anybody I know?”

"He’s on the DL. Couldn’t tell you, even if you did."

"Shit. That’s a yes if I ever heard one." She sighed and rubbed her thumb over the deep crease that had formed between her eyes over the past year. "Just promise me he’s under 25 and not too dumb to know how to work a condom."

"Course." Ian continued to focus on picking at his cereal, despite his lack of appetite.

"Good. Because we don’t have enough money to start paying for antivirals and shit, and I’m not sure if or when I’m getting medical with this job."

"Don’t catch The Clap until your medical plan comes though," Ian said, in a rote tone. "Got it."

"Asshole. I’m serious about those condoms. No glove, no love." Fiona smirked and ruffled Ian’s hair, then lifted Liam's forgotten Teddy bear from his booster chair and carried it out of the room with her, leaving Ian alone with only his thoughts for company.

Guilt settled heavily into the pit of his stomach like week-old bread. He and Mickey hadn’t always used condoms when they were together - hell, half the time they’d barely bothered with lube - but Ian had always worn protection with everybody else. Unfortunately, he wasn’t deluded enough to assume Mickey had given him the same consideration.

Just because sex with Mickey meant something special to Ian didn’t mean his feelings were reciprocated. It was only yesterday that Mickey had informed him that _‘Everybody fucks Angie’_ , right before going into her house to do just that.

Ian wasn’t sure whether it was just macho posturing, or if Mickey had really gone through with it. But with Angie’s reputation, it was better not to take any more chances with his health.

Because if Ian fucked Mickey, and Mickey fucked Angie, and Angie fucked _everybody_ , then Ian was essentially sleeping with every hood rat in a five mile radius. He didn’t really like those odds.

Tomorrow, he decided, he’d head down to the free clinic to get tested. Better safe than sorry. Even if he managed to get his grades up, West Point definitely wouldn’t take a guy who showed up to the interview covered in herpes sores.

"Penny for your thoughts," Ned asked, sauntering into the room like a man with nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there. "I’d offer you more than that, but unfortunately my assets have been frozen by my bitch ex-wife."

"Listen…" Ian smiled crookedly at him and shook his head. "You can’t pull stupid shit like you did last night if you’re gonna stay here. My brother was pissed."

Ned leaned against the kitchen counter and nodded. “That was…sorry. I don’t really have an excuse for that, other that being piss-drunk and lonely.”

"Yeah, I get it. But you can’t go doing that again, drunk or sober. I’d like to still be able to look my family in the face."

"We could always go…somewhere else," Ned said, his entire attention focused on the invisible pattern he was drawing on the counter top with his index finger.

Ian huffed out a laugh, then grabbed his still-full bowl of cereal and walked around Ned to dump it in the sink. “That’s gonna be a no.”

"Aww, come on," Ned purred, pressing the entire length of his body against Ian’s back as Ian tried to wash the dish.

"I promised Fiona, and she has enough shit to obsess over without adding this to the rotation."

Ned wormed a hand in-between Ian’s body and the sink to cup his balls. “We always had a good time, didn’t we?”

Ian dropped the bowl into the sink with a clatter and hip checked the older man far enough away to slip out from under him. “This is exactly the shit you can’t do here, Ned.”

"Come on, Red…" Ned took a step back and let his arms fall to his sides with a pout.

"Hey..." Mandy called out as she entered the house, back door rattling as it hit the frame. 

Ian shot Ned a last warning look, then walked around him to greet her, happy to have an excuse to move away. "Hey."

"Lip around?" Mandy eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth with suspicion between Ian and Ned.

Ian plastered on a lighthearted smile and tugged on her arm, pulling her further into the kitchen. "Already left."

Mandy twisted the ends of her hair together, hunching in on herself as she often did when she was feeling insecure. Which was a lot. "What's going on with him?"

He held his hands aloft, silently pleading the fifth.

Ian wasn't about to get in the middle of that mess. Lip was being a douchebag, but it's not like he would ever rat his brother out to anybody, best friend or not. Besides, he'd warned Mandy dating Lip was a terrible idea and that she'd end up getting hurt, but she wouldn't listen.

Unfortunately for Mandy, Karen was not only a total psycho bitch, but she had gotten to Lip first. It had been years since Karen first injected her special brand of poison into Lip's life. It spread like a sickness, infecting everything it touched until all of the best things about him began to wither and burn.

Lip wasn't getting over that injury any time soon, no matter how much all of them wished he would recover.

"Oh, you're still being 'Switzerland', whatever the hell that's supposed to mean?" Deflated, Mandy leaned heavily against the wall. "God. What is it with everybody keeping shit from me, lately?"

Ned's slipped quietly out of the room, cradling a mug of coffee between his hands. 

Mandy's eyes followed the older guy like she was casing a mark. "Who the fuck is that?"

"Jimmy's dad."

"Who the fuck is Jimmy?" she asked, face scrunched up adorably, making her look her age for once.

"Jimmy is Steve, Fiona's boyfriend." Ian might almost have been amused by the absurdity that had become his life, if it had happened to somebody else. "He's either a secret agent or the world's worst con man. I haven't decided yet."

Mandy looked up from her dead ends, from one side of the room to the other. "Well, if his goal is to con you guys out of anything from this shithole, he should probably go back to his day job."

"Stealing cars or working as a barista?"

"See? This is what the fuck I'm talking about," Mandy said, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Steve is Jimmy, apparently working as a barista car thief. Lip's avoiding me, acting sketch as hell, and Mickey's covered in hickeys."

"So? Mickey gets around." Ian grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl and started peeling it slowly, deliberately, like it required surgical precision.

Her lips pursed in thought. "Yeah, but he won't tell me who they're from."

"So?"

"So, Mickey's like, the walking embodiment of the phrase 'kiss-and-tell'. All he does is brag about the chicks he's banged."

Ian held back an eye roll and instead made a pensive sound, hoping to appear sufficiently empathetic. He kept his mouth shut to avoid saying anything stupid.

"And they're all over him, especially his back. Who leaves hickeys on a dude's back? He looks like a goddamn AIDS patient!"

Subconsciously, Ian may have figured Mickey was less likely to screw anybody else but him when he was covered in bite marks. That kind of thing was off-putting, even to the slut brigade who roamed the town's streets.

"I'm sure it's just some skank from the neighborhood, Mandy. Probably somebody he's too embarrassed for people to know about." Ian felt instantly sick the moment the words left his lips. He had just given voice to his self-loathing, shared his darkest fear, and the worst part about it was that there wasn't anybody he could even talk to. Even his own best friend. Especially her.

Truth was, Mickey was probably embarrassed, and Ian was the neighborhood skank he was getting his kicks with.

How could Ian have believed, even for a hot minute, that Mickey might one day return some of his affection? It's not like he didn't know this was always how it would be with them, with Mickey being on the down low. He was never destined to be anything more than Mickey's dirty secret. 

He was _literally_ fucking Mickey in the closet at work. Couldn't get more metaphorical than that.

"You're probably right." Mandy flopped into the nearest chair and sunk down into it, letting her long hair drape over the back. "But seriously, why would he bother keeping those deets to himself? We all know who the neighborhood sluts are. The only reason not to tell, is if he's fucking somebody he actually cares about."

"Maybe."

"Oh! Do you think he could be into a black chick or something? He's never gone for them before, but that doesn't mean he didn't do it without us knowing about it. Maybe he's worried our bigot dad is gonna ruin it for him? I mean," she paused, downing the remaining juice from Ian's glass without asking, "that asshole ruins everything. If you can think of something, there's a good chance he's shit all over it at some point."

Ian forced himself not to think of Mandy's abortion. If she'd wanted to talk about it, she would have brought it up herself.

He also decided to stop thinking about what he was to Mickey, he wasn't ready to look under that rock just yet. 

Mickey made it pretty clear at one point he thought of Ian as just another 'warm mouth'. And even though in his heart, Ian felt something shift between them since Mickey's last stint in juvie, he couldn't be sure and he had too much self respect to ask.

Ian rubbed a hand over his cropped hair and pointed at the door. "I've got work and then practice. Gotta bolt."

"You'd better bolt, Gallagher. That uniform is getting me all hot and bothered." She looked his fatigues over and grinned wickedly. "I can only imagine what that GI-Ho look is doing to the gay boys down at the ROTC. You ever change your mind about pussy, you know where I live."

Ian snorted a laugh and pulled her out of the chair by her hands. "Did you just call me a ho?"

"Seriously, better not drop any ammo on the floor during target practice or you might end up getting gang-banged."

He wrapped both arms around Mandy's middle to hold her in place while he tickled, sending her into a fit of laughter. "Better walk me to the corner then, if I need your protection so badly."

"The way those camos hug your ass, I'll follow you anywhere, soldier!" She wriggled until he put her down and then looped an arm around his waist. "I got your back."

"Yeah? Who's gonna protect me from you, though?" He karate-kicked the door open, feeling a bit lighter as it shut tightly behind them.

* * *

An hour into Ian's shift at the Kash & Grab and he was still alone. Mickey wasn't exactly a reliable presence at the store, but it didn't matter much, because it only took shoplifters knowing that the store was under Mickey's protection to keep them at bay. Plus, if Mickey was working for the Kash & Grab, he wasn't stealing from it, and that alone solved half the problem.

Linda was too busy with the kids to give a shit if Mickey showed up or not, not as long as the loss rates remained down and she could afford to put all of her kids in braces when they hit 13. Mickey clocked the same amount of hours every week regardless of how many he actually worked, and she always paid. 

Ian just finished making change on a six-pack of MGD - with the customary three buck 'service charge' he tacked on for his underage shoppers - when the tin chimes on the front door crashed into each other in symphony.

Mickey strolled in, stopping briefly to help himself to a donut from the case, before heading toward the back fridge to pull out a loose can of Coke.

"Thanks," Ian sent the kid - who barely looked 14 - off with a half-assed salute, then tucked the extra cash into his front pocket.

"You skimming again?" Mickey asked, smirking through a bite of jelly donut.

"No. Extra service charge. I don't skim."

"Right. You're a regular Boy Scout." He shoved the rest of the donut into his mouth in one go and then chased it with half the can of pop. 

"Well, I know how to pitch a tent," Ian said, with a straight face.

Mickey looked at him like he couldn't decide whether that was the best or worst joke he'd ever heard. "Speaking of you pitchin' tents, my sister thinks I have leprosy, now. So, thanks for that. You gotta take it easy back there, tough guy."

Ian folded his arms across his chest, and looked at Mickey with confusion. "Not what you said the other day. Pretty sure you kept crying out for me to give it to you harder."

"Settle down." Mickey gave him a pointed look as he sucked the jelly off of one of his fingers.

Ian cleared his throat. "Anyway, how do you know they're from me? They could always be from Angie."

Unfazed, Mickey licked the powdered sugar off of his lips, making Ian hate himself a little for watching. 

"Angie didn't fuck me from behind...though I would've liked it better if she had. Less face time." Mickey grimaced at the memory.

Ian would never understand how Mickey thought screwing random fat chicks would improve his Q-rating in the neighborhood. That was a lot to put yourself through just to prove a point that most people didn't give a shit about nowadays.

"Or you could always try, you know, not fucking people it makes you sick to look at?"

"Why would I stop now?" Mickey asked, lifting his chin with an air of defiance. "Come on, Dr. Freud, we could talk about my feelings like some pussy, or we could just screw. Your call."

Ian's blood pressure began to rise, but he wouldn't take the bait. One of the things he prided himself on was his ability to always stay in control. It was what good soldiers did. "I'm not the one complaining that my fuck-buddy was too rough on me."

Mickey opened his palms to the sky and let his head drop back. "I'm just asking you to save all of that suck-action for my dick, where it belongs. That so fucking difficult for you?"

"If you don't like it, you could always top..." Ian offered, the corners of his mouth curling faintly into a shit-eating grin. 

Mickey stared at Ian with a genuine look of fondness, before calling him an asshole under his breath. 

The door chimed, but neither of them broke eye contact to see who'd entered, until the unwelcome sound of Ned clearing his throat pulled them out of the moment. 

"What are you doing here?" Ian's eyes widened at the sight of Ned in his store. 

How dumb and desperate did he have to be, showing up at Ian's workplace the night after he mistakenly tried to do Lip in his bedroom? It had only been a few hours since he'd told the guy to back the fuck off.

However, with the angry way Mickey was glaring at Ned as he walked back to the fridge section, Ian suddenly felt less annoyed about the drop by.

"I was hungry. Thought I might drop by for a bag of chips...and maybe a gingersnap?" Ned said, his honeyed voice popping on the last 'p'. "I'm hoping..."

Ned lifted an oversized bag of Pop!Chips from the shelf and plopped them on the counter in the most lascivious way possible.

Ian tugged the bag across the counter by its seam and rang up the chips. Out of the corner of his eye, he felt the weight of Mickey's stare burrowing into him like a tick.

Ned pulled out his wallet as he looked around the store, giving it a thorough survey. "This place must have a back room, right? I wouldn't mind picking up where we left off this morning."

From across the store, Micky's irritation was wafting off of him in spurts and stutters, like a malfunctioning heat lamp. Only yesterday, he'd gone and fucked somebody else. If Mickey was jealous, it served him right.

"Can't," Ian said, pointing at the security cameras dotting the store. "Working."

"Oh." Ned pulled a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and paused. "Maybe later? Happy hour at The Fountain? Nobody will see us there." 

It was probably the best offer Ian was going to get all week, if he was being honest, and it wasn't like Mickey was dying to hit the town with him. 

He may as well get drunk somewhere swank on the old man's dime, and drown his sorrows. Better and cheaper than staying home feeling sorry for himself.

"Okay," he said, shrugging, biting back the urge to look over at Mickey to see what his reaction might be, if there even was any.

"Okay! See you there," Ned said, face lighting up like a Christmas tree as he tucked the bill into Ian's hip pocket. "Keep the change."

Just as Ned turned to step out of the store, Mickey inserted himself in front of him, blocking off the exit. "Receipt?"

Unimpressed, Ian printed out a receipt and dramatically passed it over to Ned, who presented it to Mickey with a smug look.

Mickey nodded tersely and removed himself from Ned's path, keeping his eyes trained on the older man until the chimes rang out and the door clicked shut behind him. He glanced at Ian and hooked a thumb toward the parking lot. "That your grandpa?"

"Nah, just a guy I've been seeing." Ian fought the indignation that rose in his chest like acid reflux.

"Oh." Mickey finally turned his attention away from the door and blinked, looking almost earnest. "That’s the guy you’ve been seein’? Do you guys, like, picnic together, or uh, you get a little dog with a fuckin’ sweater?"

"Nah, we don't picnic. We mostly just fuck," Ian said, in a casual tone. "You know, like you and Angie."

Mickey's face twitched at the reference. "Said he saw you this morning? They give him a day pass at the old folks home?"

"Actually, he's staying at my house for a bit." Ian turned his attention to the register and began to needlessly reorganize the drawer, dumping all of the change onto the counter before angrily segregating it into piles by denomination. 

He would probably be willing to take up needlepoint if he had to, anything to avoid dealing with the hypocritical, jealous snit Mickey was throwing in front of him right now.

"He's staying at your house?" Mickey exhaled harshly and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, packing the box louder than necessary on the checkout counter. "Jesus Christ. Your family's down with all that homo shit?"

"They're not so down with Ned," Ian said, pouring a handful of dimes back into the correct slot, "but they couldn't care less about 'that homo shit'."

"For real?" The sad look of wonder on Mickey's face was almost enough to break Ian's resolve. 

Almost.

"Even if they did, it wouldn't stop me." He slammed the register drawer shut and looked up. "Can't exactly change who I am or what I like, right? Me fucking girls is like making a dog wear a sweater. Unnatural."

Without asking, Mickey reached over to scoop up the pile of nickels and deposited them into the right slot, worrying his bottom lip as he always did when he was overwhelmed.

Ian was irritated with himself for knowing that about him.

"You really fucked that guy?" Mickey asked, his voice as uneasy as his expression.

"Sure. Why not? Not like I got any better offers coming my way."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still writing on an iPad, which means this chapter is riddled with more mistakes than an episode of Teen Wolf. Okay, just kidding, this fic has more continuity :)
> 
> Special thanks to drpepper23fan for checking this one over for me!

Ian's hamstrings burned like a motherfucker. If he continued to keep this pace, it wouldn't be long before his entire shirt was soaked through with sweat. But, he didn't have much of a choice.

So he ran, his breathing falling easily in tandem with Mickey's as their gaits synched. He wondered how much further from The Fountain they would have to flee until Mickey finally felt safe enough to stop.

His eyes fell to Mickey's ass - strong muscles contracting and releasing with each stride - he always knew that ass would get him into trouble. Lip had said as much, when he'd discovered who Ian had been fucking. He'd told him it was only a matter of when and where.

Though Ian hadn't actually done anything wrong, he was South Side, which pretty much made it a lock that he'd get nabbed for something, if the cops caught up to them. Though his only crime was his proximity to the beating incident, the prospect of having to explain that to Fiona from the other side of a sheet of plexiglass was deterrent enough. If he got arrested again - and for beating up Jimmy's dad, no less - she might actually kill him this time.

But logically, what was Ned going to do? He couldn't exactly say he was on a date with a 17 year old boy who's house he'd been staying at. That would only ensure him a spot in the adjacent jail cell. Even if Ned were the type to rat them out to the police, which he wasn't, he would still have to keep his mouth shut about this one.

It was still hard to believe that Mickey had actually stalked Ian and then beaten up his date. He hadn't decided yet whether he should be pissed off or flattered by it.

Of course, it might not have been jealousy that prompted the attack. Maybe Ian was letting his hopes cloud his judgment? After all, Mickey didn't hit Ned until he'd innocently referred to him as Ian's boyfriend.

That still didn't explain what Mickey was doing there in the first place.

What was Ian supposed to make of Mickey risking a parole violation just to beat the crap out of his date? It wasn't something that happened on a whim. The Fountain was nowhere near the Kash & Grab, and Mickey had clearly waited hours for Ian's date to finish before approaching them. That required effort and planning. And intent. It had to mean something, even if Mickey wasn't prepared to put a label on it.

"Ah! Shit!" Mickey said, grabbing Ian around the waist and pulling him to a stop.

The tail end of their adrenaline rush had finally begun to peter out, leaving them both in a giddy haze.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ian shouted, his emotions flip-flopping wildly between amused and outraged.

Though Ian shoved Mickey off of him, he couldn't bring himself to put any real force behind it. What was the point of fighting a gravitational pull when it was taking you exactly where you wanted to be?

Mickey reached for Ian's dick, then faked left before tackling him around the waist again, knocking him off balance.

Twisting Mickey's shirt around his fist, Ian backed Mickey into the nearest "L" pillar, sliding his knee between Mickey's legs to pin him there. "Why did you do that?"

Mickey's eyes followed the line of Ian's arm up to where he'd secured Mickey's wrist and swallowed thickly. "Do what? Jump you?"

"You know what."

"Maybe I figured I'd rescue you from an afternoon of banging King Tut?" Mickey said, a flippant edge clinging to his words like old tar. "You're fucking welcome, by the way."

"Where are my manners? Thanks for the cockblock, asshole." Ian stared into Mickey's eyes, looking for any sign that his actions meant something deeper.

"My pleasure." Mickey's grin stretched all the way to his eyes, which only made Ian fume.

"Seriously, where the fuck do you get off?"

"Usually right here." Mickey bucked his pelvis against Ian's, forcing Ian into gritting his teeth to keep from getting hard.

Ian leaned forward until their noses almost touched. "You are such a fucktard."

"Stop being such a pussy," Mickey snapped, though false bravado. He was panting heavily now, his chest bumping up against Ian's with every breath. "I was doing you a favor."

"Oh, you don't think Lloyd Lishman is 'the one' for me?" Ian slid his knee higher between Mickey's parted thighs, just for the pleasure of watching him squirm.

"Who the fuck is Lloyd?"

Ian turned his head, looking over his shoulder at nothing, and then back again. "The dude whose face you just pounded."

"That wasn't Ned?" Mickey asked, a tentative look of disgust crossing his face. "Just how many old guys you sticking it to, Gallagher?"

"He's not that old. He's 57."

"That in dog years?" Mickey's eyes quickly darted to Ian's lips and back up again. "You turn into a gold-digger when I was in juvie, last go around? Who knew it'd only take some weak-ass flattery and a couple of pricey cocktails to get you to drop your pants."

Ian smiled and leaned his knee against the hard line of Mickey's growing erection. "You've never given me either and I dropped my pants for you."

"Probably a bad move on your end," he admitted, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. "You got some shitty taste in guys. You know that?"

"Yeah." Ian's throat was raw, his body tense from holding back, but he wasn't going to give in so easily this time.

He was sick of being the one to put himself out there, of being mocked whenever he tried to define whatever they were to each other. He was tired of being fucked hard but never kissed.

As much as he wanted to bridge the gap between them, take that last step forward to press their mouths together, he wouldn't be the one to do it. He was still stinging from the last time Mickey pulled away from his kiss.

Ian straightened his back and puffed out his chest, using his height advantage to put Mickey on the defensive. "So, what? I should run all of the guys I fuck past you first?"

"I don't give a shit who you fuck," Mickey said, his voice raspy and thin, but the way his body quivered under Ian's touch said otherwise.

"Sure you do." The air between them crackled with electricity, Ian's fingers tightening around Mickey's wrists as he looked down at him with a wry smile. "You wanna weed out the undesirables?"

Mickey's eyes softened as he blinked up at him, his fingers wiggling slightly in Ian's grasp. "Probably should weed myself out first then, Ian."

Oh.

Ian leaned over and nosed the line of Mickey's jaw, brushing his lips against the rough stubble on his throat. "Not Ned?"

Mickey's Adam's apple bobbed against Ian's tongue, and his fingers curled into fists. "I don't know what you see in that geriatric viagroid."

Ian chuckled against the bend of Mickey's neck, enjoying the slight stutter of his breath. He licked a path up to Mickey's ear, the slick skin covered in a sheen of sweat that left a salty tang in his mouth.

"He buys me stuff, orders me room service...he isn't afraid to kiss me."

Mickey jerked his head away and shot Ian a look that was equal parts desire and fear.

"Mick--" Ian had barely gotten the word out when Mickey crashed their mouths together, sliding their tongues against one another in a slow grind.

His hand relaxed against Mick's wrists, sliding forward until their palms touched. "What--?"

"Shut up and bend me over something, before I punch you in the face." Mickey whispered against Ian's mouth, then kissed him again - greedy and hard - like he was trying to make up for two years of neglect.

Ian's fingers fell to Mickey's fly, fumbling with the buttons as his mouth bit a path across Mickey's collar, leaving tiny red marks in his wake. Excitement thrummed through his body, making him clumsier than usual.

"Coulda sworn you'd done this before."

"Shut up, Mick."

Mickey gasped, knocking the back of his head against the pillar as Ian pulled his cock out of his pants. "Fuck yeah. Do it."

"Do what?" Ian asked, sinking slowly to his knees as he squeezed the base of Mickey's cock to keep him from coming too early.

"God."

Ian had waited years to have Mickey like this, have all of him, and he wanted to make it last.

"What do you want, Mick?" Ian pressed forward and nuzzled the dark hair between Mickey's thighs, surrounding himself with his familiar scent. "Tell me what you want from me?"

Mickey's eyes shut tightly, his fingers trembling against the nape of Ian's neck. "Everything. Want you to do everything."

"Yeah," Ian whispered, ghosting his lips across the velvet skin of Mickey's cock. "Okay. I've got you..."

A sharp hiss escaped Mickey's lungs as Ian's warm mouth took him in.

 

* * *

 

By the time Ian arrived home, it was well after dark. He'd lost track of the hours. It wasn't until the third time he was inside of Mickey that he even bothered to check his watch.

It was just as well. The idea of facing Ned again so soon after the attack wasn't something he was looking forward to. At best, he could expect an evening of sullen, cross looks. At worst, there would be cops waiting for him at the door.

One thing he hadn't predicted was the sound of Ned's laughter echoing through the kitchen from the living room.

He also hadn't predicted Frank.

Acting like the king of the castle, he was perched on the couch next to Ned, knocking the necks of their beers together like lifelong friends.

Taking a deep breath, Ian gingerly stepped into the living room, hoping to make it to the stairs without being noticed.

"Ah, Ian!"

With a long sigh, Ian turned to face the music. "Ned."

Ned looked up Ian with a wide smile. "How was the rest of your evening, after work?"

Ian looked from Ned to Frank and then back again, weighing his answer. "Fine?"

"Good!" Ned responded, a little too enthusiastically for it to be real. "Good."

"You've got a job?" Frank glanced up for a moment, before chugging his entire beer in one go. "Why didn't you say so?"

Nobody in their right mind would tell Frank they were pulling in an income. That would only be an invitation for trouble.

Ian shrugged, not the least bit surprised his father didn't remember him ringing up his beer at the store the few times he actually paid for it. He was likely too drunk to notice.

Frank grinned as he reached across the table to grab another beer. "Nice you're finally earning your keep, son."

Ian scoffed. "That makes one of us."

"Ian's not the smart one, that's Lip ," Frank explained to Ned, before taking a long drag off of the fresh beer in his hand. "But, he's got a good build and he knows how to throw a punch. Didn't get that from me, though."

"Obviously," Ian said, eagerly mapping out his escape route in his mind. "Seeing as I'm not really your son."

"We're still related!" Frank leaned conspiratorially toward Ned. "My wife fucked my brother. It happens. Mushrooms, man," he said, mugging, as if one word was sufficient enough to explain such a long-kept family secret.

Ned's beer-soaked features shifted gears from curiosity to second-hand embarrassment. "Ah."

"Clayton, he was wiry like Ian. Liked to fight dirty." Frank kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. "I was always more of a lover."

"I don't know," Ned said thoughtfully, leveling a wanton gaze at Ian. "Ian looks like he could be a lover to me."

Frank choked hard on his next sip. "Ah shit! You're fucking my son, aren't you?"

"No. I'm fucking your brother's son."

Ian looked on in horror at the two men, who were huddled together and snickering like a pair of naughty schoolboys skipping gym class.

With a beet red face, Frank hunched over, struggling to breathe, one hand grasping desperately for the front of Ned's designer shirt to steady his balance.

"Not anymore," Ian said, gritting out his words through clenched teeth.

"Right." Ned turned to Frank and sighed like a man who had seen too much. "I was tossed over for a younger model, but such is the fickle nature of love..."

"Don't I know it." Frank patted Ned's back, commiserating with the man like he had any experience being part of a long-term relationship that didn't center around booze, drugs, or mutual infidelity. "My wife - the one who fucked my brother - she recently left me for a younger woman, a lesbian with the build and personality of a young Michael Vick."

With a mouth still full of beer, Ned made an empathetic noise and swallowed loudly. "My wife left me because I like to sometimes have sex with boys."

"That's not an unreasonable request! Everybody needs a little variety sometimes."

Ian wondered if a Deus ex Machina was a thing that only happened in books. At this point, he was pretty much willing to pray to anything to make this conversation stop.

"Well, she didn't see it that way. She's taking me for all I'm worth." Ned swayed, body wavering through the air like a buoy, as he frowned into his nearly empty beer. "Says I owe her that much for not fucking her properly in ten years."

"You didn't fuck her?" Frank asked.

Ned raised a wobbly finger. "Not _properly_. Maybe your brother's son didn't think I fucked him properly either? Could be why he threw me over for the other one? The violent one." He waved a dismissive hand at Ian.

Frank patted Ned's knee like a reassuring grandma. "I'm sure that violent guy couldn't touch you in your prime."

Ned tipped his head back and forth in thought. "Well, obviously. Though, the kid did have something special about him...a je nous se qua...assuming you're into rough trade. Which I'm obviously not." He nodded his head toward Ian, who looked to the sky for help.

"Rough trade?" Frank gasped in realization, his hand slapping against Ned's thigh before grabbing at his shirt again. "It was that Milkovich kid, right? Oh man, they're still goin' at it?"

Ian was frozen to his spot, gaping like a goldfish at the exchange happening in front of him.

"Oh! Hey! I guess I did know about the job." Frank beamed with self-pride. "I once caught the two of them banging behind the dairy section. Milkovich looked at me with murder in his eyes...though that might just be the resting face for their entire family. You know...Bravta."

Ned nodded, as if he had a wealth of personal knowledge concerning the Ukrainian mob. "I believe 'Mack' was the name Ian kept shouting out as he begged the kid to stop beating me to death."

"Mick," Ian said, not sure why he was even bothering to correct him.

"Ian saved my life. Did this finger-thing, he jammed them into the guy - into Mick's - neck." Ned mimed the defensive move that Ian had used to stop Mickey from finishing the job, then pressed his beer bottle to the purple bruise blooming across his cheekbone. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Mickey Milkovich," Frank said, the name rolling around his mouth like a bad taste. "I think you can do better than that, son."

Ian brow furrowed. "What makes you think I give a shit what you think, Frank?"

Frank's head lolled around on his neck before turning to look at Ian. "Well, the kid must know what he's doing if he gets around half as much as people say he does. So, kudos for hitting that, I guess." He lifted his beer bottle to toast to Ian's successful sex life.

"If you ask me, Mick is the one we should be congratulating." Ned winked at Ian.

"Ian!" Frank rose halfway off the couch to slap Ian on the chest - missing by about a foot - hand swiping through air in front of him. "I knew you had to have inherited something from me, besides your delicate bone structure."

Ian's mouth dropped open as he struggled to form words. Though he'd always hoped for his family's acceptance, this was beyond the pale. "Can you... _not_?"

The front door shut with a bang.

"Did I just walk in on a weekly meeting of 'Broke Perverts Anonymous'?" Lip leaned against the nearest wall, his eyes casting a look of concern toward Ian. "Everything okay here?"

A wave of relief rolled through Ian as his brother crossed the room to stand next to him. He had never been happier to see Lip.

"Define 'okay'."

Lip's jaw clenched, his expression taut like a cobra who was ready to strike. "What the fuck did you do now, Frank?"

"Everything's great! Just sharing a beer with old Ned, here." Frank grabbed roughly at the front of Ned's shirt again, but Ned was too far gone to notice. "I mean, our kids are practically betrothed, so it's high time we got to know each other, right?"

"Absolutely." Ned finished his beer and stifled a burp with the back of his sleeve.

Frank continued, gesturing at Ian. "Plus, he was even banging him for a while. We're basically family, right Ned?"

Ned shifted his glazed-over eyes toward Frank and winced. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"You're not the only one, pedobear." Lip's hands curled tightly into fists, as he got right up into their father's face and hissed. "Get the fuck up, Frank. Rise and shine!"

"Why? This is my house! I'm entitled to be here!"

"You're entitled to jack shit." Lip hauled Frank up off the couch by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him across the room like a bag of garbage.

"Hey!" Frank scrambled to get out from under Lip's control, but was too drunk to coordinate his limbs. "You see how my own kids treat me, Ned? Do you see?"

Ned, too drunk to hold meaningful conversation anymore, responded by slumping over the arm of the couch with a weak wave goodbye.

Lip opened the front door and ejected their father from the house, punctuating his exit with a kick to the ass, then slammed the door behind him. "One down, one to go."

At the very least, Ian owed his brother a six pack and a joint after this.

"He's down for the count. It's fine. See?" Ian said, pointing to the passed out body that was slowly sinking into the cushions. "I mean, it's not fine. It's probably the worst day of my life, but there's no point in fucking crying about it, now. Anyway, thanks."

Lip nodded, then grabbed the last two unopened beers from the coffee table and handed one to Ian. "Your problems make my problems look positively mundane."

"Don't sell yourself short. Your problems are pretty awful, too." Ian grinned at Lip until they both began to laugh - almost manically - at the shitstorm that was their collective existence.

A knock at the back door pulled them out of their pathos.

Losing a quick game of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors', Ian walked to the back to answer the door, but before he could reach it, Mickey let himself in.

"Iggy said he saw your dad with Oscar Wilde at the Alibi earlier tonight. Told the whole fucking bar that he was now rooming with that dickwad in your house." Mickey muscled his way into the living room, apparently too agitated to wait for a response.

"Sure. If by rooming, he meant binge-drinking, and if by house, he meant..." Ian gestured to the couch. "Anyway, not like Frank's in any position to invite house guests to stay. He doesn't even have the key here, anymore. Ned is Jimmy's dad."

"Fiona's Jimmy?" Mickey flinched at the sight of Ned passed out on the sofa, then crowded Ian into the nearest flat surface. "You know, that's really fucked up, even for you, Gallagher."

Ian knows his romantic life could easily be adapted into a sexy, French comedy From the 1970's, but Mickey's wasn't any better. "Oh, I don't know, we've already had our first 'mistaken identity' incident. Lip feels like there's still more humor we can mine from this."

"You're a dick." Mickey pressed his hips forward, aligning their pelvises, and teased Ian through their clothes. "Thought you were just messing with me when you said he was living here."

"Messing with you?"

"Trying to piss me off." Mickey lifted the bottle from Ian's hand and stole a sip of beer.

"No. It pissed you off?"

"Hell no."

Ian tried to fight the triumphant smile from erupting on his face, but it was futile. Mickey was jealous. He had tipped his hand for the second time that evening. 

"Shut the fuck up, Ian," Mickey said, utterly failing to look annoyed as he pressed the beer bottle back into Ian's hand.

"I didn't say a fucking word!"

Ian glanced up at Lip - who had made it as far as the staircase, unnoticed - his open-mouth smirk expanding ever wider.

Mickey instinctively took a few steps back from Ian and turned to Lip. "The fuck you looking at?"

"Nothing." Lip held both hands up in surrender and backed away, retreating to the second floor, two steps at a time.

Ian let the beer bottle swing back and forth between his fingers like a pendulum. "Couldn't stay away, huh?"

The silent question that hung in the air between them was heavier and more dangerous than an anvil.

They'd crossed a line into unknown territory. Ian honestly wasn't sure if he'd see Mickey again after what passed between them earlier, he could have  easily freaked out, done a runner. But there he was.

Mickey let out a shaky breath, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, like he was gearing up for a fight. "You hungry?"

Ian exhaled a relieved laugh. "Nah, not really. You?"

Mickey pushed Ian up against the back of the staircase and waggled his brow. "I could eat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You like?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being twice the size of the others, so I broke it into two. The good news is that it's already done. I'm just waiting on the ch4 beta, so it will probably post tonight or tomorrow.
> 
> Also, huge thanks to drpepper23fan for beta'ing this mess. I'm still writing on an iPad, so you can imagine the amount of crazy autocorrect mistakes.

Being with Mickey was like working at a nuclear plant, built on top of an active fault line. The raw power of his outbursts was a thing of poetry, a laser hot show of unpredictable predictability. It was how he kept other people in line, how he kept himself in line, too.

Mickey had suffered, like anyone else growing up on the South side, but in quieter moments away from the fray, he was docile, even sweet. It didn't take Ian long to realize that Mickey's intimidating personality was less about rage and more about creating a barrier of white noise to hide behind, to hold people at arm's length, keep them from looking deeper.

With all the 'sturm und drang' that accompanied one of Mickey's tantrums, he was never at their mercy. It took a special brand of crazy to live each moment like you were dying, embracing the peaks and valleys of life with equal fervor.

Though Ian had his own issues, he wasn't crazy. Not _that_ genre of crazy, at least. He could never just turn one part of his brain off and revel in the now. Ian was a planner. He was the responsible one. 

Mandy liked to joke that Ian could never be a bottom, because he was incapable of loosening up. He had no sense of abandon.

But Ian had seen what could happen when a person let themselves give in to all of their baser impulses. He'd been living with the daily fallout from it most of his life. Crazy could be a drug, as addictive as any other. Maybe more so?

And though Ian wasn't a dweller, he was vaguely self-aware. He knew he was prone to extremes. His mother had always been the same way. But unlike Monica, he didn't understand or particularly enjoy the highs that precipitated his momentary lapses in judgment.

Lip liked to say Ian was suffering from temporary insanity, being with Mickey, but it was actually the clearest his mind had ever been. Mickey, for all of his erratic energy, was a grounding force. He gave Ian focus, an anchor.

"My boys'll be here in about ten. They can do this shit in their sleep, so if you change your mind, it's cool." Mickey sidled up to the van where Ian was loading supplies, an unreadable expression on his face. "I'll still cut you in with a Finder's Fee, if you back out. Won't even let my cousins call you a pussy."

Looking over his shoulder, Ian finished coiling a length of rope, then blindly tossied it into an empty cardboard box. "Why would I back out?"

"Jesus, I don't know. Maybe 'cause you've never stolen anything bigger than a carton of milk before? You don't have a record."

"You only get a record when you get caught, right?" Ian sat on the ledge of the open van and lit the cigarette he had stashed behind his ear. "It was my idea, so I'm doing it."

"No. That broke queen who's living at your house, it was his idea." Mickey pulled himself up to sit next to Ian and took the cigarette from his hand. "It could be a setup, for all we know. It's risky, not exactly a starter job."

"What? You don't think I can pull my weight or something? Managed to put your ass out of commission when you attacked Ned." Ian frowned, disturbed by the idea that Mickey saw him as a liability.

Mickey exhaled a cloud of smoke in a series of rings, then playfully shoulder checked Ian. "Alright, tough guy. Slow your roll. I just figured...I mean you don't have a record and it's probably best if you don't."

"You have a record."

"I ain't applying to West Point, genius. Word has it, they wait list felony convicts." Mickey raised his brow, as he always did when he thought Ian was purposely being dim. "Anyway, ain't nobody gonna want to get their ass pounded by a guy with orange hair wearing an orange jumpsuit, so unless you don't plan on ever getting laid again..."

Like a punch to the gut, Ian realized that this wasn't about what Mickey thought Ian was capable of, it was about protecting him.

"Don't think fashion choices make much of a difference when the lights are out." Ian snatched the cigarette from between Mickey's lips and took a long drag.

Mickey pushed Ian back onto the flatbed and straddled his waist. "That so?"

"Well, you'd fuck me if I was wearing an orange jumpsuit," Ian said, a taunting smile playing on his lips, "and you've been to jail."

"I've been to juvie, asshole." Mickey bent over and framed the sides of Ian's head with his arms, leaning down until their faces were inches apart. "And the only color I like you fucking me in is freckles."

Ian lurched forward and kissed him, letting his lips linger for a moment before quickly pulling back. "Just wait till you see me in my blues."

Ian stretched his arms over his head and Mickey's eyes followed the movement. "Rather see you out of them."

"You won't be able to see anything but the color of the sheets while I'm pounding you into the mattress."

"That right?" Mickey shifted his pelvis until it lined up with Ian's, grinding them together in a slow circle.

Ian was tempted to shut the door and spend the rest of the afternoon in the van. He'd rather be banging out his frustrations than robbing his ex's house, but his family had a lot of bills that they'd never be able to pay with what Fiona was pulling in at the supermarket.

"Fuck. You're killing me here." Ian's breathing picked up, along with his heart rate. "Much as I'd like to get you on all fours, I kind of need to make an electricity payment before they shut it off again."

With a groan of protest that was more resigned than irritated, Mickey rolled off Ian. "You're gonna blow me later to make up for this."

"I was gonna blow you later anyway." Ian passed over his cigarette in apology, watching eagerly as Mickey's mouth surrounded the filter and sucked in a hit of smoke.

"Just follow my lead, okay?" Mickey said, his thumb affectionately dragging across Ian's cheekbone. "And if shit gets rocky, I want you to take off. Leave me behind, if you gotta."

"What the fuck, Mick? I'm not leaving you behind!" Ian turned on his side and punched Mickey in the shoulder a little harder than he meant to.

He braced himself for a return blow, but instead of fury, a faint smile pricked at the other boy's lips.

"You're a fucking idiot," Mickey said, cigarette dangling precariously from the corner of his upturned mouth.

"Yeah." Ian remained on his side, admiring Mickey's profile as he pulled in another drag. "What's that make you?"

"Guess you're not the only one with shit taste in guys."

 

* * *

 

"We were making love!" Frank hissed, shutting the bedroom door behind him as he strode out into the hallway like a debauched Roman emperor, one of Ned's overpriced silk robes hanging generously off his narrow shoulders. "In flagrante."

His indignation barely registered with Ian, it was a deflection technique his father had used frequently in the past.

"Didn't anybody ever teach you to knock?"

"No."

There were thousands of things Ian needed to learn on his own, and that was just one of them. He also wasn't taught by Frank how to ride a bike (that was Lip), how to drive (Fiona, though she wasn't much better at it, herself), or which fork to use with what dish (nobody). Frank did teach him how to successfully walk out of a C-Town with an entire ham hock concealed under his clothes, so there was that.

Long ago Ian concluded that it was better not to learn some things at all than have them taught to him by Frank.

"Didn't look like much was going on from where I stood," Ian said.

Frank threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "She was passed out cold." 

Ian cut a dubious look in the direction of the bedroom and then back to his dad. "Please tell me she fell asleep _after_."

"Yes, God! Maybe you don't know this because you're into dick, but women always fall asleep after the act, if you fuck them _properly_ ," Frank said, explaining to Ian like he was slow. "Anyway, you should be thanking me for knocking her out for you while you robbed the joint. That's what you're doing here, right?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Ian asked, ignoring Frank's question.

"This is my home," he said, glaring at Ian as if it were obvious.

"You live here now?" Ian brushed a weary hand over his head. "Did Sheila kick you out again?"

Frank sputtered for a moment. "That's not the point--"

"I'm gonna assume your new buddy Ned doesn't know about this."

Ian often wondered exactly where Frank's 'line' was, which actions even he found too distasteful to participate in? So far, in Ian's short life, he had yet to see one drawn.

"Ned is taking up space in my house, why shouldn't I take up residence in his?" Frank's arm swept over the banister, calling attention to the grandeur below. "Fair is fair."

"Pretty sure Ned got the short end of the deal."

Frank drew Ned's robe more tightly around his frame. "You haven't had sex with his wife. She's...demanding."

Ian held back a laugh. "I can't believe you're screwing Ned's wife."

"Somebody has to. I'm providing a service," Frank said, managing to sound like he actually believed his own bullshit.

"Like a gigolo?"

"Can't put a price on companionship."

"I'd say at least $300." Ian lifted the hem of the silk robe and rubbed the soft material between his fingers. "Anyway, need to get Ned's Armani suits out of there, so if you could just move the fuck away from the door, I'll grab them and I'm gone. Then you can get back to fucking Ned's wife."

"Ned put you up to this?"

Ian crossed his arms over his chest, mentally calculating how much force it would take to throw Frank over the banister. "He's sick of the ex having his crap on lockdown."

"Smart. He'll probably file an insurance claim and get paid for your trouble. Wish I had something worth stealing. And insurance." Frank leaned heavily against the bedroom door, lost in thought. "What are you getting out of this? You're no Good Samaritan."

Ian shrugged. "Ned said we could take what we want as long as we swipe a few things he needs."

Frank quirked an eyebrow. "We?"

At that moment, Mickey showed up, carrying an elaborately-framed oil painting - so large it nearly blocked his field of vision - between gloved hands. "The fuck is Frank doing here? Thought you said you didn't tell anybody about this?"

"I didn't." Ian turned to Mickey and smiled tightly. "He lives here now."

"Starting to get why you wanna run off and join the circus, Gallagher." Mickey shot Ian a look that said to hurry up then aimed his focus at Frank. "You'd better keep your fucking mouth shut, if you know what's good for you, Frank."

Frank jerked the paisley sash on his robe loose and re-tied it, the excess material bunching up around his hips like a puffy pirate blouse. "I'm feeling very attacked here...and in my own home."

"Yeah?" Mickey took an aggressive step forward. "You're gonna actually be attacked if you don't get the fuck out of the way and let your kid get what we came here to steal."

"I'd be happy to help," Frank said, grinning widely. "Just tell me what my cut is and I'll be off."

Ian placed a hand on Mickey's chest, holding him back before he was able to react. "Your cut is that we don't tell Ned you're in his house, banging his wife and wearing his clothes."

"Ned won't care," Frank said, brushing the idea off with his hand.

"Jimmy will care. You think he'll be okay with you fleecing his mommy? You'll be out on your ass by the end of the day."

"Seems like a pretty sweet setup you've got going on," Mickey chimed in. "Would suck to be out on the streets again, huh?"

A stream of muffled obscenities fell from Frank's lips. When he was finished, he shook his head and smiled. "There's a Ming vase on the first floor. It's blue."

"Meet you back at the car?" Mickey grinned at Ian - and it was like sunshine parting the rain clouds - then took off down the hallway.

Frank looked at his son like he was weighing a major life decision. "You got it bad, huh?"

Ian shrugged. "I like to think I've finally got it good."

Frank held his stomach, like he was about to be sick. "I'll get the suits."

 

* * *

 

After trying to beat the police report by fencing the high-ticket items, they divvied up the cash, bagged the rest of the stuff, and stowed it in a hole in Sheila's lot. She wouldn't notice. It wasn't like she left the house very often.

Wanting to have the place to themselves, Mickey slipped Kevin a few bills from their haul to make sure the drinks flowed freely at the Alibi that afternoon. Terry was fucking frightening, even scarier when he was drunk, but there was always a point on those nights when he went on a particularly bad bender and lost all ability to function.

Luckily, they'd made enough cash that day to make sure Terry could comfortably drink himself under the table.

"How far do you think five grand can get us?" Ian asked, fingers twining in Mickey's dark hair, in a post-coital haze on the dirty carpet of the Milkovich living room. "At least as far as New York, right? You dad won't find us there."

"Us?" Mickey lifted his head for a second, then let it fall back to the ground. "What? You think we're gonna run away together, live like a couple of fags in the West Village?"

"We are a couple of fags, Mick."

"You are, maybe."

A laugh tumbled out of Ian, light and gentle, like cascading water. "I'm not the power bottom in this relationship."

"We're not in a fucking relationship," Mickey snapped, quickly turning onto his stomach. "And liking what I like don't make me queer."

Ian's breath caught in his chest. If they weren't in a relationship, then what the hell were they doing?

"Yeah we are, and yeah it does. You like dick, dude. A fag is exactly what that makes you. Rationalize it all you want, but it is what it is."

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey said, his tone low and threatening. "You need to get the hell out of here, now."

Ian rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. It was one thing to screw a gay who was on the down low, but it was a whole other ball game to screw a guy who couldn't admit to himself what he was. "Right. Because I'm the one with the problem."

"Keep it up and you will be," Mickey snapped, throwing himself on top of Ian's body, pinning his arms painfully over his head. "You don't know shit. Stop running your fucking mouth about what you think you know about me, unless you want it smacked."

"Go on," Ian shouted, lifting his chin defiantly. "Hit me if it makes you feel better. Still won't make you straight."

Mickey head-butted Ian, forcing out a scream as a sharp blast of pain ripped through the center of his face.

Blood trickled generously out of Ian's nose, which throbbed in white-hot agony. He breathed through it until the first stab of pain wore off, but it still wasn't half as excruciating as the dismissive way Mickey was looking at him now.

Mickey's fingers pressed uncomfortably through the bones of Ian's wrists, but Ian didn't struggle, he only stared Mickey down. "Feel any less gay, now?"

"Fuck you, Gallagher." As pissed as Mickey was, Ian knew that it was more self-hatred than anger. Mickey might have hated Ian for making him care, but he hated himself more for caring. "Fuck you."

Ian steeled his gaze, despite the insistent pain blurring his vision. "You love me, Mickey. You love me, and you're gay."

"I'm not." Mickey punched Ian in the jaw, the momentum of the swing causing him to fall forward onto Ian's body. "I can't be. If I am, I'm dead."

The hard line of Mickey's cock swelling against Ian's naked stomach betrayed his words.

"Aren't you tired yet, living like this?" Blood dripped down the back of Ian's throat and he began to choke on it. "I'm tired, Mick. I'm so tired of it."

Mickey's eyes widened and his grip loosened around Ian's wrists, releasing his hold. He sat up quickly, hands awkwardly hovering over Ian's face as he realized what he'd done. "Oh fuck. Fuck! Ian, I'm so fucking..."

Ian coughed a few times, turning to spit blood on the floor before pushing himself up by his elbows to sit. "It's fine."

"It's not." Mickey's face was wet with tears, but he made no move to wipe them. Instead, he reached for the shirt he'd been wearing earlier and carefully cleaned the blood off Ian's face. "I'm such an asshole."

"Yeah, you are." Ian grabbed the shirt out of Mickey's hands and held it firmly to his nose, leaning forward a bit to keep the blood flowing in the right direction. "Look, you can do or be whatever you want, okay? I just can't do it with you."

Ian made a move to stand, but Mickey continued to weigh him down. "Don't..."

"Don't what?" Ian asked, more tired than he'd ever been in his life.

Mickey choked back a sob and gripped Ian's arm a little harder. "Just don't."

"I can't - I can't stay here anymore, okay?" Ian roughly shoved Mickey from his lap and yanked on his jeans, not even bothering to button them before pushing out of the front door, shirt and shoes in hand.

 

 

 

 

Stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [Happily Shanghaied](http://happilyshaghaied.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like happy endings, so hold tight!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it!
> 
> Endless thanks to drpepperfan23 for the fast and furious beta.

By the time he got back home, Ian's head was spinning. His thoughts were scattering like marbles, each one rolling in a different direction. Soon, he'd be on his knees, trying to retrieve them from under the living room couch. At least he'd be getting on his knees for the right reasons for once.

The only thing he could focus on was his need to get the fuck out of town. He couldn't stay in Chicago any longer, not with Mickey living nearby.

"My wife do that to you?" Ned asked, looking up from his glass of wine, probably from the bottle Ian had liberated from his house earlier.

"No."

As the door shut behind him, Ian felt safe for the first time since the robbery. The kitchen might be the one place that had seen the worst of the Gallagher family, but it had also seen the best. Familiarity was exactly what he needed right now - good or bad.

"She didn't wake up once. Frank saw to that," Ian added, as he approached the table where Ned was sitting.

"Dare I ask what Frank was doing in my home?"

"Lonely, alcoholic woman in a large, expensive house. Indigent, drunk man looking for a new person to grift. You do the math." Ian gave Ned a knowing look.

"I should be more upset than I am," Ned said, rhythmically twirling the glass of Pomerol to air it out. "But I'd be a hypocrite to tell her who she should sleep with, even if it _is_ Frank. You got everything of value out of the house, though?"

"Yeah. She'll probably be real pissed when she comes to, but Frank would have slowly fenced everything you own out from under her. Least this way she'll get some insurance money out of it." Ian grabbed the glass of wine out of Ned's hand and downs the entire thing in one go.

"Hey..." Ned said, frowning. "That stuff works out to over a hundred dollars a glass. If you're going to drink it, at least have the decency to savor it."

Savor it? Ian hadn't ever had anything to eat or drink in his life that he'd want to taste for longer than he had to. Besides, savoring food in the Gallagher house meant going hungry. By the time you went in for your second bite, the food would be gone.

"Don't have time to savor, Ned." Ian lifted the wine and took a long swig directly from the bottle, then poured more into Ned's glass for him with an amateur flourish.

"Your face." Ned slowly rose up from his chair, his gaze narrowing to assess the injuries. "Let me check out the damage."

Ian groaned like the teenager he should have been, but remained still, allowing Ned to turn his face from left to right to examine the wounds. "It's broken, right?"

"Well..." Ned softly fingered the bridge of Ian's nose, eliciting a sharp wince from the boy. Without warning, he wrenched the bone, popping it back into place. "Not anymore."

"Fuck!" Ian had to white-knuckle the edge of the table to remain on his feet. "Holy fuck! That hurt."

"You need to keep it stable so it heals correctly. And ice that." Ned slipped back into his chair and lifted his glass to his lips, then tilted the cup in Ian's direction.

"No thanks." Ian walked over to the freezer, pulled out a bag of peas, and pressed them against the side of his nose with a grimace. "I think I probably need something stronger than wine."

Ned magically produced a joint from his front shirt pocket and rattled it between his fingers. "Something like this?"

Ian reached for the joint, but Ned clutched it to his chest before Ian could get to it. "First tell me who did that to you."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Ian stared Ned down, unyielding.

With a sigh, Ned relinquished the joint. "That bruise on your jaw looks suspiciously similar in shape to the one that was on mine."

Ian pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the end of the cigarette. As the sweet burn of hot smoke coiled its way through his lungs, his shoulders began to lighten. He didn't want to talk about Mickey, he just wanted to get baked enough to forget him.

"Better?"

Ian nodded and took another hit. "Can I ask you something?"

Ned inclined his head in Ian's direction.

"Why'd you stay in Chicago? It had to have been more acceptable to be queer on the coasts when you were younger, right?"

Ned swirled the crimson liquid around the sides of his glass as he processed the question. "At the time, I thought it was easier to conform. I mean, I liked fucking women - not as much as men - but enough to build a life with one. I liked my wife...until I didn't. I don't regret my kids."

Ian passed the joint to Ned, and reapplied the bag of peas to his face. "You were okay with living a lie?"

"It wasn't a lie, Ian," Ned said, exhaling. "I guess my proclivities weren't something I felt compelled to satisfy as a younger man, and now that I'm older and my desires have strengthened, the stigma is less. Lucky me." He flashed an impish grin and took another drag off the joint. "Plus, when you've got money, it kind of becomes a non-issue. You have the luxury of creating your own reality."

The edge of the rolling paper burned, turning blacker and more fragile with each hard pull of air. Ned passed the joint back to Ian, then lifted his wine glass to his lips once more.

"Well," Ian's voice was high and tight as he held a hit of smoke in his lungs. "I'm poor as fuck and I'm not ashamed of what I am. You don't need money to admit you're queer, you just need a damn backbone."

"You're brave, but how much backbone is really required when your family loves you regardless of who you sleep with? Not everybody has that."

Ian stared at Ned blankly, hackles rising. "You're defending him?"

"Hardly. More like...managing your expectations." Ned studied Ian's expression for a reaction. "A boy like that? The one who attacked me in front of The Fountain? I wouldn't hold my breath. Some cracks run too deep to mend."

"He loves me. He hasn't said it, but he does." Ian perched on the edge of the table and held the joint to Ned's lips for him to toke. "Least I thought he did."

"Of course he does. Nobody in the history of love affairs has ever thrown a punch over a boy they've felt ambivalent about." Ned's hand on his wrist was a surprisingly warm and stable presence. "But, to quote the great Tina Turner, 'What's love got to do with it?'"

Ian briefly wondered how Jimmy turned out to be such a hot mess with a dad like Ned in his life. Then, he remembered that sometimes it was easier to show kindness to strangers than the people who meant the most to you. After all, Frank showed up at school for Karen's parent-teacher conference. He'd never done that for any of the six kids he actually brought into this world.

"Maybe, but it doesn't matter how much somebody likes you if they treat you like crap. That's why I have to leave town." As he took his next drag off the joint, Ian's fingers were singed, causing him to drop the roach on the table and leaving behind a small burn in the veneer. "Shit!"

Ned wet his fingers with wine and pinched out the flagging embers of the joint. "You don't have to leave Chicago to leave your boyfriend, Ian. How very gothic novel of you."

"That's me." Ian absently ran his finger down a fresh knife wound on the table, a long gash Veronica caused that time she and Fiona chopped up 200lbs of slightly-expired meat. This table had more battle wounds than a soldier after his fourth tour in Iraq. Nobody would even notice one more.

"Lately, it's almost like I feel things too deeply? Like colors are too bright? Even the way things smell...and then other times, it's like I'm not able to feel anything at all. The only time I've got even a little bit of control over myself is when I'm with him. I know I wouldn't be able to stay away."

Ned sat back in his chair with a furrowed brow and took a sip of wine. "Ian--"

His words were cut off by Ian's joyless laughter. "God, I know that sounds really pathetic."

"You don't sound pathetic, you sound depressed."

"Well, my secret boyfriend did just break my nose and call me a faggot..." Finally saying it out loud really drove home how fucked up Ian's life had become.

"Not that kind of depressed." There wasn't pity in Ned's voice, no judgment, only empathy.

Ian guessed this was probably what Ned sounded like when he spoke to his patients. Who knew his bedside manner was as easy as his manner in bed?

"So, thanks for the smoke." Ian pushed himself off the table, brushing the invisible wrinkles out of his cargo pants. "Gotta go pack."

"Ian," Ned started, his voice tentative, "I'm planning on renting a place over near Boystown. You ever get in trouble and need somewhere to crash for a little while, you've got my number."

Ian tossed the now-soft bag of peas into the sink with one hand. "Thanks, Ned. You're okay."

"Just returning the favor," he said, with a wink.

 

* * *

 

 

"What the hell happened to your face?" Mandy leaned against Ian's bedroom doorway, clad in only a pair of underwear and one of Lip's douchebag t-shirts that said, _'Rejection From Society is What Created X-Men!'_.

Ian reflexively touched his nose and blanched from the pain. "Relationship issues."

Mandy's face darkened and she let herself further into the room. "Who do I need to fuck up?"

"It's fine." Waving her off, Ian pulled his duffle out from under his bed and started to load it with his possessions.

"It doesn't look fucking fine!" She said, pressing herself against the communal dresser to stop Ian from reaching for the next drawer. "It looks like you're getting ready to bolt."

"It's just for a while." Ian lifted Mandy up from under her arms and deposited her on his bed in a heap, then continued packing. "I'll be back."

"Bullshit!" Mandy scooted across the mattress and knelt on top of his bag - preventing him from adding anything else to it - and stared him down. "That's what everybody says."

It didn't take a genius to realize she was thinking about her mom. And his.

He knew it was pointless to try and work around Mandy. Once she had an idea in her head, she was like a rabid pitbull. He was better off just playing dead.

"What the fuck happened?" she asked. "And I swear to God, if you say 'nothing', I will break the parts of your face that your attacker didn't get to."

It was probably the weed or the crazy day he'd had, but Ian was suddenly very dizzy. He let his body drop like a stone on the bed next to Mandy. "I'm feeling kind of...I don't know. Weird?"

Mandy cupped the sides of his face and forced him to look at her. "Your eyes are okay. Don't think you've got a concussion or nothing."

Ian didn't want to think about how Mandy got so knowledgeable about head injuries.

"I've just got to get out of here. Now. I have to."

For a long moment, Mandy seemed to be debating something. Eventually, she kissed Ian on the forehead, released his face and crawled off the bed. "Let me just get my shit from Lip's room and I'll come with you."

"No." Ian shook his head, but the motion only made him feel worse. "I don't want - you shouldn't come, okay?"

"The fuck I'm not." She stood up and walked to the doorway of his room. "You're the only good thing in this whole fucking town. You leave, and I've got nothing keeping me here."

"What about Lip?"

"He's not gonna be here much longer," she said, a sad smile straining her face. "You know as well as I do, his ass don't belong in this shit neighborhood. He's going go to college. I made sure of that."

The selflessness and generosity that Mandy was capable of stole his breath. She knew she would be left behind if Lip went to college, but she was still willing to give his brother a push in the right direction, whether he wanted it or not.

Ian gave her a quick nod and resumed packing. "Five minutes."

 

* * *

 

 

Mandy and Ian made it as far as the outside of the bus station before Lip and Debbie showed up to stop them.

Lip stood in the fading shadow of the crumbling building, stoic and ready to bestow his judgment, like Zeus on high at Mount Olympus.

He looked at Mandy like she'd committed the ultimate betrayal, before leveling his crushing gaze at Ian. "You weren't even going to say goodbye?"

"I wouldn't have been able to leave if I had," Ian whispered, the hurt in his brother's eyes causing him to shrink into himself.

Deb, whose face was red and puffy from crying, stepped forward and kicked Ian in the shin. "That's the point, asshole!"

Ian absorbed the blow, dropping his duffle bag to the ground. He quickly wrapped his little sister in an embrace before she could get another shot in. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -- it's not because of you guys."

"What the fuck happened to your nose." Lip's jaw audibly clicked as he clenched his back teeth together. "Your asshole boyfriend do that to you?"

Ian released Deb, covering his injury with both hands. Through the fog of marijuana, he'd almost forgotten it was there. "Pretty sure he's not my boyfriend anymore. Not sure he ever was."

"You're leaving because of that prick? Leaving town and taking my Goddamn girlfriend with you?" Lip shouted, grabbing at his head with both hands like he was trying to keep it from exploding. "I swear to God, I'm going to kill him. I don't give a shit _who's _brother he is, I'm going to pound his face until the only way he can eat is through a straw."__

Mickey might have been acting like an asshole, but the last thing he deserved was another threat of violence. Terry had that area more than covered.

Ian grabbed Lip's shirtsleeve, lightly tugging it. "Just let it go. Please? For me?"

"You can't leave, Ian," Lip said, quietly, his arm protectively wrapped around Deb. "Gallaghers stick around. The good ones do, at least."

Ian looked at the sky, swirls of pink becoming more orange as they blended into each other against a sheet of dark blue. He wondered if the sky would look the same in New York or completely different, not sure which would bring him more comfort. "I can't."

Deb let out a mournful sob against the front of Lip's t-shirt, burrowing further into his chest.

Lip dropped his arm from Deb's shoulders and pointed aggressively at Ian. "You leave, and I'm going to kill him. It'll be on your head. Come on, Debs," he snapped, storming off in the direction of their house in a cloud of dust.

Deb looked up at Ian, the red blotches on her cheeks making the green of her eyes even more intense. "I don't want to lose anybody else." With one last, pleading glance, she ran off, sprinting down the road until she caught up with their older brother.

They had all lost a lot. Frank, Monica, Grammie...maybe they were better off without them, but it didn't mean their absences were felt any less.

Ian didn't want to be another absence, but he could feel himself disappearing all the same, like an apparition, fading into nothingness. It would be better for them not to have to deal with it. If he could run away from himself, he would.

"Who's brother are you banging?" Mandy asked, swallowing hard. Her eyes darted all around Ian's face like she was searching for something.

It had taken long enough, but Ian could tell by her expression that she'd finally put two and two together. "I didn't want to put you in the middle of it."

It was the absolute truth, but Ian knew it sounded flimsy as the words left his lips.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mandy exploded in a frustrated scream, kicking a large rock across the gravel road. "I'm standing here at a fucking bus station with you, ready to leave town for good! I'm already in the fucking middle of it!"

Ian twisted uncomfortably in his spot. "He didn't want anybody to know."

"Fuck that!" she shouted, shoving Ian by the shoulders. "I'm your best friend. You should have told me."

"What? That I'm in love with your brother or that he punched me in the face because he's too chicken-shit to admit he's gay?" Ian reached out to touch her, but pulled his hand back at the last minute, worried that he'd lost the right. "It wasn't my secret to tell."

"How long?"

"Since that day I went to your house to get Kash's gun back."

"That was, like, well over a year ago!" she said, her face dropping. "God, Ian. You've been dealing with this all alone?"

"Lip knew, not that he had any desire to," he said, followed by a broken laugh. "My dad caught us once together at the store, but drank enough to forget all about it afterward. I tried to tell Mickey that he would, but he didn't believe me. Seemed to think juvie was a safer option than putting his faith in the ability of cheap whiskey to mind-wipe Frank."

"Stupid, fucking idiot," Mandy said, as realization hit. "That's why he punched out that cop? And why you were so annoying about going with me to pick him up when he got out? Well, don't I feel like a fucking moron?"

"Sorry?" Ian shrugged. What else was he supposed to do? He could either be with Mickey on his terms or not at all. And from that first moment the air changed between them and Mickey dropped the crowbar to the floor, Ian had been hooked. "If it makes you feel any better, pretty sure _I'm_ the real moron."

Mandy threw herself at him, clinging to his body like a monkey. "I could have helped you, dufus."

"You've already helped me too much, Mands." Ian squeezed her back, pressing his face into her hair. The mango scent of Fiona's shampoo washed over him like a balm, calming his nerves. Mickey may have been where his heart lay, but Mandy would always be his home.

"Shut the fuck up," she said, laughing and sniffling at the same time. "You're my 'person', asshole, and I'm yours. There's no limit, okay? Except babies. I'm not carrying a fucking gayby for you and some other dude...even if that dude ends up being my stupid brother."

"Who said I want your eggs? They're probably all hard boiled from the shit you put in your body."

"You fucker!" A throaty laugh tore from Mandy's chest, so full of amusement that Ian couldn't help but be lifted by it. She backed Ian up against the nearest wall and pinned him there. "You'd be lucky to get my eggs!"

"The only way I want your eggs is over-easy with a side of bacon."

Her fingers jammed into his side, making him giggle like a little kid. "Aww, this not comfy? That's what you get!"

"You left without your cut." Mickey's voice sliced through their laughter like a hot knife through butter, stopping them both on a dime.

Mandy frowned and spun around on her heels. "Haven't you done enough, shit-stain?"

Ian's heart was beating against his rib cage like a brass band. Mickey had come to the bus depot, even if it was just to say goodbye. That was at least proof that he cared.

"I gotta talk to Ian," Mickey said, in the same determined tone he used to collect a debt, then raised his brow at his sister. "Alone."

Mandy bristled and positioned herself in front of Ian. "Last time you talked to him alone, he came home with a broken nose."

"Yeah. I fucking know that. It's why I'm here, okay?" Mickey's expression was uncharacteristically fragile and hollow, like a week old jack-o-lantern left out on the front stoop to rot. He wiped a hand over his face and tried again, softening his tone. " _Please._ "

Mandy's mouth fell open, the word clearly catching her off guard. Mickey was the kind of guy who simply told you what he wanted, like he was entitled to it. He didn't ask, and he definitely wasn't polite about it.

A tendril of pity tugged at Ian's chest, threatening to unravel the fabric of his anger like a loose thread. "It's fine."

Mandy shot Ian a concerned look and then turned to face her brother. "You hit him again, and they're going to be finding pieces of you on the shore of Lake Michigan. He deserves better than this."

"I know." Mickey nodded once in acknowledgement, though his eyes remained trained on Ian.

"I'm not going far," Mandy announced, body checking her brother hard as she left the immediate area.

Ian crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to meet Mickey's gaze. This was the most vulnerable he'd ever felt in his life, but he still had enough pride not to show it.

He was living out one of those clichéd airport scenes, where the lovers either ended up in each other's arms or separated, traveling the Earth, alone and heartbroken. Whichever way it shook out, he was ready to get it over with.

"Went by your place earlier...to make sure you..." Mickey sighed and scratched his head. "Dr. Lovejoy said you were skipping town. Told me it would be 'unconscionable' for me to let you get on that bus." He lifted his fingers in air quotes, lips pulling into a smirk. "Woulda been here a little earlier, but I had to stop and google that shit."

The crunch of gravel beneath Mickey's feet kicked up a plume of white dust that clung to the legs of his jeans.

Ian rolled his eyes to look casual, but that was pretty much an impossibility at this point in the game. "God, Ned's worse than a grandma."

"He's as old as one." Mickey ventured a few steps forward, testing Ian's limits. "So, uh...you okay?"

Ian pursed his lips and said nothing.

"Right. Stupid question." Mickey raised his hands in mea culpa. "What I meant to ask...did I really break it?" He gestured to his own nose with a pinched expression.

"Yes."

"Fuck." Mickey exhaled a harsh puff of air and ran a hand through his hair. "I fucked up. Okay? I know I did."

Ian didn't want Mick's pity. If anything, Ian should be the one feeling sorry for him. "It's fine. Ned was around to snap it back into place, smoked me up for the pain."

"Ned did?" Mickey's face changed from concern to thinly disguised jealousy. "That all Ned do to make you feel better?"

Ian pressed his mouth into a disapproving line and feigned impatience. "What do you want, Mick?"

"I want..." He ran a shaky hand through his hair, making it stick out in several directions like it did after sex. He started to speak, but immediately stopped himself, instead choosing to pace a short path in front of Ian, like a caged animal. "I want - I guess I just want to apologize. I'm sorry, Ian. I'm so fucking sorry."

"Yeah, you said before." Ian hugged his torso like a lifeline and shrugged. "Okay, sure. Apology accepted. Anything else?"

"I don't know."

Ian's head fell against the stucco wall of the depot with a dull thud and he started to laugh, bitter and fragile. "Yeah, I know. Look, why don't you just give me my cut and you can get out of here? $2,500 bucks will go a long way toward keeping me off the streets."

Mickey looked like he was about to be sick. "You really going through with this? You're leaving town?"

Ian gestured to his duffle. "Yeah, I'm out. I'm no closer to West Point than I was a year ago. Fiona will have one less mouth to feed with me gone, which is good. The guy I _thought_ liked me is too much of a coward to even hold my hand--"

The _thwump_ of something dropping to the ground caught Ian's attention, but before he could look, Mickey stepped into his personal space and grabbed his hand.

"I'll do it." Mickey's gaze was like a brand, burning into Ian's skin with a sharp sting. It was like being touched by the bluest part of a flame.

Ian looked down at their joined hands in disbelief. "In public?"

Mickey took a fortifying breath and let it out slowly. "Wherever you fucking want. Just don't - don't leave, okay?"

Of course he'd stay. Any thoughts of playing it cool left the building the moment he'd heard Mickey's voice.

This wasn't the end of 'Casablana'. He wouldn't be riding off into the sunset with only his memories to keep him warm. This was like those upbeat, 80's rom-coms Fiona always forced him to watch with her. The ones where the guy at the end says something romantic and cheesy, and then kisses the girl.

"But if you still think you gotta go," Mickey said, kicking the weathered bag at his feet toward Ian. "I'm coming too."

Ian's eyes darted toward the bag and then back up at Mickey. "You packed a bag?"

"Didn't know if you were staying or leaving. Wanted to be prepared, either way." He sniffed the air and turned his head away, uncomfortable under the weight of Ian's stare.

"You'd really leave town, just to be with me?" Ian closed his fingers tightly around Mickey's hand.

"I'd follow you anywhere, asshole."

And there it was. Ian's cheesy Hollywood ending. The only thing left to do was kiss.

Ian pulled Mickey closer by his hand, using the momentum to flip them around and pin Mickey to the wall. "That right? You'd even follow me to somewhere shitty like Sheboygan?"

"Fuck off," Mickey said, laughing as he angled his head upward.

Ian pressed their lips together, slipping a hand under Mickey's shirt to feel his racing heartbeat. His nose ached with the contact, but seeing as it now ranked as the best kiss of his life, he pushed though.

Surprisingly, for all of the strong emotion behind the kiss, it was uncommonly slow and gentle, two things Ian never thought he'd get from Mickey.

"No Sheboygan? But you said anywhere..." Ian murmured into the moist skin along the curve of Mickey's neck.

"I'm about to drop your fine ass on a bus to Sheboygan, alone, in a minute." Mickey's fingers trailed up the underside of Ian's jaw to cup his face, pulling him in for another kiss.

"That all I am to you? A fine ass?"

"No idiot," Mickey said, his expression willfully raw as he stared directly into Ian's eyes. "You're fucking _everything_. Okay?"

Ian dove back in for another kiss, with the same enthusiasm Frank had when he dove for a dropped wallet.

"Now that I've turned myself into a total pussy for you, can we go the fuck home?" Mickey asked, smiling against Ian's lips. "Or Sheboygan? Your call, chief."

"Let's go home. _My_ home," Ian said, clarifying himself as he reluctantly pulled away, grabbing his duffle from the ground. "Don't want you going back to that garbage dump you live in. You're gonna stay with me. In my garbage dump."

Mickey nodded, and took Ian's hand again, proving to him that he could. "Why don't we hit up the Alibi for a drink on the way home?"

"Terry is there."

Mickey grinned. "Maybe I'm feeling a little reckless tonight?"

Ian's happiness cooled off considerably. "Mickey...he could kill us."

"I know. I _know_. I'm just sick of tiptoeing around the guy." Mickey worried his bottom lip and kicked a rock across the ground. "And I'm done of being scared of him. If he's gonna come after us, better we make the first move. Element of surprise and shit.”

We.

A warmth spread through Ian's chest, pushing out any lingering doubt that hid behind the corners of his heart. Mickey was going to do it. He was determined to come out to his dad, even if it meant they might not survive the night. But, whatever the fallout was, whatever the future held, they would face it together.

That was love.

Ian squeezed Mickey's hand, trying to put everything he felt for the boy into one small gesture.

"You happy now?" Mickey hauled his bag over his shoulder and led Ian down the gravel path to the main road.

Ian squeezed Mickey's hand once more, letting him lead the way. "Getting there."

 

 

 

 

Stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [Happily Shanghaied](http://happilyshaghaied.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***If I were less lazy, you would have read a scene where Mickey came by to apologize to Ian, and Ned played matchmaker. Because Ned is cool like that.***
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks to everybody who read, kudos'd and especially those of you who took the time to leave comments. I appreciate the encouragement!


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